


Tennis Shoes

by appleblossomgirl



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: pot-grower!Katniss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleblossomgirl/pseuds/appleblossomgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honor of 4/20, a fic with Katniss and Gale stumbling into growing pot. Seeds are sown (pun intended) for future Everlark.</p>
<p>"I wound a labyrinthine path through the alleyways of the Seam, slipping stealthily around corners and clinging to the shadows until I stopped at the familiar green door. The door, almost visibly pulsing with the low thrum of the base blasting inside, was my only way in. I took a few deep breaths, savoring the cool evening air and dreading the assault of noise, the press of bodies, the fog of smoke that I would have to fight through as soon as I entered the house. As I pushed through the chain link gate, I glanced up at the tennis shoes slung over the wire. They never ceased to annoy me. Not only was it a waste of perfectly good tennis shoes, their message was unnecessary. Everyone in District 12 knew that Gale sold the best shit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first stab at an AU story. I have read and enjoyed so many AU stories, but have always had trouble imagining Suzanne Collins's characters outside of canon Panam (I never rearrange my furniture either). 
> 
> Sadly, and hopefully not illegibly, un-betaed. All mistakes are mine. I own nothing.

I wound a labyrinthine path through the alleyways of the Seam, slipping stealthily around corners and clinging to the shadows until I stopped at the familiar green door. The door, almost visibly pulsing with the low thrum of the base blasting inside, was my only way in. I took a few deep breaths, savoring the cool evening air and dreading the assault of noise, the press of bodies, the fog of smoke that I would have to fight through as soon as I entered the house. As I pushed through the chain link gate, I glanced up at the tennis shoes slung over the wire. They never ceased to annoy me. Not only was it a waste of perfectly good tennis shoes, their message was unnecessary. Everyone in District 12 knew that Gale sold the best shit.

I took one last slow deep breath before banging on the door. After a momentary pause, the familiar scrape and thunk of the heavy locks being slid open signaled that I should step back before the thick door swung out. Thom’s hard gray eyes met mine before they lightened in recognition. “Hey Katniss, come on in and join the party,” he drawled.

As I plunged inside, I felt that familiar shudder of panic as the locks slid back into place behind me, trapping me in the dark, sweaty, pounding cocoon of a room. I slid along the wall, navigating the throng of writhing dancers, nearly being hit in the head by a bong being passed. I made my way to Gale’s oversized leather seat that he occupied like a thrown. When I reached him he pulled me onto his lap. 

I took in the black leather vest, his arms inked from wrist to shoulder the piercings jutting from his ears, eyebrow and lip, the kohl lining both his gunmetal gray eyes. 

“Everything good?” He practically yelled into my ear.

I nodded, then patted the pocket of my military jacket. He unceremoniously hoisted me up over his shoulder and fireman carried me into his room. 

Once the door was shut and locked, he set me down and I pulled the baggie with the dark green buds from our new plant out of my pocket. Cracking the ziplock he inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. How’re the plants looking?”

“Good, they should be ready to harvest in a few weeks.” 

He tucked the baggie back into my pocket and smiled, “Nice work, as usual, Professor.” 

“Suck my dick, Hawthorne,” I replied coldly, but I couldn’t keep the smile from pulling at my face. This promised to be our best strain yet and the yield would be impressive. It had taken us years, but we’d created quite a business for ourselves. 

Two years after our fathers died in the same industrial accident, Gale and I, hungry and desperate to feed our families had taken to the woods that border the parkland on the far side of the Seam. As we picked our way through the forest collecting anything potentially edible and shooting whatever we could, we spotted a trail of blood that threaded deeper into the trees. After some heated deliberation, we followed it, snaking off the trail and crawling through the underbrush until we came to a clearing. 

The skunky smell and serrated leaves indicated that we’d stumbled across someone’s grow. It wasn’t large, maybe a hundred plants, but they were laden with buds. As we walked through the rows, plants taller than Gale, we stumbled across the source of the blood trail. Within twenty feet of each other, two men were laying on the ground where they had fallen, puddles of blood seeping into the forest floor from beneath their bodies and guns loosely grasped in dead hands. 

We knew it was dangerous. Everyone in the Seam knew that the gorilla growers in our forests were violent and dangerous; hell, it was the main reason the woods were basically off limits. But from the looks of it, the grower and his competition had taken care of each other. Gale and I, shaking with fear and adrenaline, made a decision. We buried the bodies; Gale booted twice while I was able to swallow down most of my panic and bile. We watched the site for a week, mostly from the surrounding trees (generally speaking, nobody ever looks up). Frightened, but hopeful we took over tending the grow and then carried out the harvest. 

Gale, his 6’4” frame starting to fill out at 16, transformed himself with tattoos and piercings and became the dealer. I unearthed my dad’s plant books and dedicated myself to cultivation. I got my GED and left school and became a pot farmer and amateur geneticist (I know that sounds unlikely for a teenager, but it mostly just required some basic plant knowledge, watercolor brushes for hand pollination and good record keeping skills). Over the past four years, with our developing skills and a lot of dumb luck, Gale and I had successfully developed a highly productive strain lovingly named “Katnip” and a lucrative business. Our supply was highly sought after for its quality by clients from both town and Seam, the demand seemingly endless. District 12 was far enough off the map not to have attracted competition from any of the larger organized cartels and the local Peacekeepers were willing to turn a blind eye in exchange for a cut. 

With our business done for the night, I wondered if we'd been in his room long enough for me to make my escape. I didn't want to make him look too bad. People had always assumed that Gale and I were a couple, despite the continual parade of women that make their way through his bedroom, and we had never corrected them. It relieved me of unwanted attention and provided protection through association.

“Happy birthday, Catnip,” he called as I pulled the door open and braced myself for the onslaught of noise and sweaty bodies.

“You’re a couple days early, dumbass,” I shot back over my shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to stick around for your party?” he asked with a smirk. He had passed out an obnoxious number of fliers around the Seam, advertising my birthday. Marketing, he explained. This is why he was the dealer and I spent all of my time in the woods.

“You can’t be serious.” His grin was the last thing I saw before I pushed my way through the strobing lights and throng of gyrating bodies. 

I don’t know if it was my relief from being back outside or the tracers from the flashing lights obscuring my vision, but as I walked through the front gate I ran directly into the black uniform inhabited by Officer Cray. Before I fully comprehended what was happening, he had me face down on the pavement and was pulling the baggie of bud from my pocket. 

“What do we have here?” he sneered down at me, knee planted firmly in the middle of my back.  
I heard the blaring of music before registering that Gale was towering over us, demanding that Cray let me up. Officer Darius tried to placate Gale as Cray pulled me up roughly and cinched handcuffs on my wrists. 

“Snow sends his regards,” he snarled at Gale. “Let’s see how things go without your little gardener here, shall we?” He shoved me into the back of a patrol car. “Such a shame this had to happen on her eighteenth birthday,” he sneered.

When we arrived at the police station, he wished me a happy birthday before shoving me into a holding cell. I was terrified but did my best to keep my face neutral. All I could think of was Prim and my mom and what would happen to them when I was sent to prison. I couldn’t stop pacing around the twelve by twelve cell. Being locked up was basically my worst nightmare.

Hours later a disheveled man with graying hair and a poorly fitting tan suit was let into my cell.

“I’m Haymitch Abernathy, the public defender that has been assigned to your case,” he drawled. I caught the sharp smell of liquor as I approached him and realized I was completely fucked. “Well, sweetheart, it appears that today is your lucky day.”

“How do you figure?” I mumbled as I backed away and resumed my pacing. 

“Sit down,” he snapped. Then added more kindly, “You’re making me dizzy.” 

I reluctantly sat down on the narrow cot that lined one wall of the cell. 

“Cray was out to bust you as a message to your buddy Hawthorne. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t read the fine print and you’re a minor for two more days.” He chuckled, looking strangely pleased with this information. “Also sad news for Cray, you seem to have some unexpected friends in high places. Who do you know in the mayor’s office?”

“His daughter.” I stated flatly. I hadn’t seen Madge in two years, since I’d left school. But we’d been friends for a while, as much as either of us were friends with anyone. 

“Yeah, that seems about right. Well she’s convinced her dad that you should be part of this new program to rehabilitate first-time, minor offenders. You’ll be placed on probation and employed by a local merchant to learn a trade and keep your sorry ass off the streets and out of the system.”

“I already have a job,” I tried to keep the sneer out of my voice, but failed.

“Now you have a new one,” he said, standing and hollering to be let out of the cell. 

After Gale had bailed me out and my mom had taken me home, I resigned myself to my fate. Gale explained that Snow, a drug kingpin from the Capital had been making overtures, basically veiled demands, about acquiring our business and inventory, which Gale had artfully handled by basically telling him to fuck himself. Now, unfortunately, it looked as though this approach had failed and I was paying the price. As much as I wanted to run, I couldn’t leave Prim alone. In the past two years, my mom had slowly returned from the haunted, half-dead state she had been in since my father’s death. But my sister deserved more. And how could I guarantee her safety if I wasn’t around ensure it?

As I sat with Prim eating an early dinner of cold chicken and sliced cucumbers that she had made, I could feel the panic pulsing at the back of my mind. I forcefully pushed it back, swallowing the food down my dry throat with effort. My head felt like it was filled with cotton and I could practically feel the jail-germs colonizing my skin. I fell back on my age old coping mechanisms and took several deep breaths and forced myself to focus on one thing at a time. I took a scalding shower, scrubbing as much as the last fourteen hours off of my skin and soul as possible, loosely braided my dripping hair and fell face down on my bed. I just needed a few hours of sleep.

Unfortunately, I overshot the few hours part and woke the following morning to my mom shaking my shoulder. 

“Katniss, you need to get up. There’s a… woman here from the Mayor’s office.” I stared at her groggily. “Do you need any help getting ready?” What was I, four years old? I hadn’t needed her help for years. My face must have shown it, because she looked away from the hardness in my eyes, and turned to leave. Things were better with her, but they weren’t good. Forgiveness wasn’t my strong suit.

I walked into the living room to find the mayor’s assistant, a pearl-pink haired woman wearing a garishly bright suit who introducing herself as Effie Trinket, for fuck sake. She had come by early, she explained, to describe the details of the rehabilitation program. In a shockingly shrill voice, she excitedly explained that due to the incredible generosity of the merchants, I would be given an internship at a local business to learn a decent trade. I was so freaked out about her appearance, I could barely follow what she was saying and before I knew it she had herded me into a waiting car. 

“I will never understand why you young ladies don’t take more pride in your appearance,” she clucked, picking up my braid and dropping it back onto my shoulder with a look bordering on disgust. “Your eyes could be lovely if you just…” I shot her a piercing look that shut her up. She sighed heavily and made a point of staring out the window until we arrived at City Hall. 

As she unnecessarily hustled me out of the car and into the mayor’s office, I caught sight of a familiar blond head. Madge looked up at me through her fringe of bangs as I made way over to her place in the corner of the room. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, it was nice to see her.

“Hi, Katniss,” she said quietly, her fingers clasped tightly together, turning her knuckles red, “I hope you’re not mad at me. I overheard Cray telling my father about your arrest and I wanted to help. We wanted to help.”

Before I could ask her who “we” was, Mayor Undersee entered the room, followed by Effie and an entourage of photographers and reporters. I was grateful as Madge clasped her arm through mine.

Mayor Undersee gave a quick speech about how his administration believed strongly in our “children being our biggest investment” and how proud he was that his daughter had taken the initiative to help her peers who had “gotten a little off track” to “find their way”. He thanked the merchants for “believing in second chances” and “investing in our youth”. I was casting around frantically trying to plot an escape route through this crowd of bullshit, when suddenly the Mayor was in front of me pumping my hand.

“Nice to see you again, Katniss,” he said quietly, while surreptitiously winking at me. Then he turned and was shaking the hand of the man on the other side of him. He took a step back, leaving the other man and I to face each other and putting a hand on each of our backs. It took a minute for my scattered mind to place the kind face that looked slightly more tired and a bit older than I remembered. 

“Mr. Mellark,” intoned Mayor Undersee, “ I’m sure you will have so much to teach Ms. Everdeen. Teach a man to fish, and all of that.” I coughed to cover up the snort. If anyone could teach someone to fish in this room, it was me. Then as Mr. Mellark stepped back, I saw him standing just behind his father. Peeta Mellark. As his impossibly blue eyes caught mine, I saw the scene play out in my mind's eye in fits and starts; the burned bread, his eye swelling shut, the sting of the rain and gnawing hunger in my belly. I closed my eyes to banish the vision and feeling of utter helplessness it conjured. Madge wrapped her arm around my hip and steadied me as a sea of flashbulbs popped and questions were shouted at Mayor Undersee.

I was gently herded out of the room by Madge. She left me by the window, saying she’d see me in a minute. I rested my head against the yellow and blue patterned wallpaper and felt the sun warm my face through the glass. 

“I hope you're not mad, Katniss. Madge and I only meant to help. It seemed like a couple of months at the bakery would be better than whatever Cray had planned for you. When Madge asked if we could hire you, I hoped you would be okay with it.” He voice was soft and comforting and he looked so worried as he stared at me from under the longest, golden lashes I had ever seen.

I just started at him blankly as the “we” in question became clear. Peeta and Madge had done this to help me. And as much as it infuriated me that these decisions had been made without consulting me, I had to admit that cleaning the bakery or whatever they had planned for me was likely superior to whatever else I had coming. 

I nodded, meeting his eyes for a second before turning away and following Madge as she rejoined us. Madge led me back out to the waiting car and spent the ride back to my house explaining how my “internship” at the Mellark Bakery would work. She sounded so apologetic and I realized that as much as I hated other people being involved in my life that she had meant me a kindness. I gave her a brief hug as I jumped out of the car. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and went in to get ready for my first day at the bakery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss begins to serve her "bakery sentence" and, much to her surprise, doesn't hate it. Three guesses as to why... (here's a hint):
> 
> "The first week went by in a blur of blond brothers and baked goods. Every time I shouldered my way into the kitchen and hollered out that we needed more sticky buns or seeded sourdough, I was met with Peeta’s startlingly blue eyes and gentle smile. I fought the urge to blush, pushing back through to the storefront, biting my lip to keep from answering his smile."
> 
> Sadly, and hopefully not illegibly, un-betaed. I own nothing. All mistakes are mine. (Drat! That makes it sound as if I own nothing but mistakes... that can't be right, can it? You know what I mean.)

Obscenely early the next morning, as I turned the corner where Seam Road met Village Lane, I found Peeta waiting for me. My heart fluttered at the sight of him and I quickly chastised myself, schooling my features into a practiced scowl. Here we were again, completely off balance. Him, a member of respectable town family, tasked with rehabilitating a petty criminal. Me, said petty criminal who hadn’t property finished high school and was now growing drugs to keep her family afloat. When he had helped me when we were kids, okay, saved me, it was difficult to see him at school. I never knew what to say to him, how to adequately thank him for the bread, or the bravery, or the kindness. When I had left high school, I just assumed I would never have the opportunity to thank him. Now it seemed the biggest favor I could do him would be to stay as far away from him as possible and keep my mediocrity from tainting him, or worse, endangering him. 

“Afraid I wouldn’t show?” I asked, a little more venom in my voice than I intended.

“No, I just thought…” He huffed out a sigh, then stepped and gestured forward with a sweep of his large hand. “Good morning, Katniss. I thought I’d walk you to work on your first morning.” 

Before I could ask him why the fuck he’d do that, I caught myself and muttered, “What a gentleman.” Then since that was also sharper than I intended, I murmured a quiet, "Thanks."

“I’m so glad you noticed,” he answered grinning, either not understanding, or more likely caring, that I hadn’t really meant the gentleman comment as a compliment. That seemed to be whatever signal he needed to set off and chat animatedly all the way to the bakery, despite my monosyllabic answers. I was nervous. He seemed to get that and be doing his best to put me at ease. In spite of myself, I liked listening to him chatter. 

He explained that he and Madge had been friends through high school and had worked together on student government and come up with the first offender rehab program after a disastrous night involving way too much cheap beer and dozens of chocolate chip cookies (“worst hangover ever”). He gave me a quick primer on his brothers: Bran, the oldest, was bossy but well-intentioned and mostly just desperate to follow his beloved girlfriend who had left for grad school out of state and Rye, the middle brother, was grouchy but hilarious and hated the bakery and pretty much everything but fast cars. Oh, and he was a manwhore that I should totally steer clear of, he added, glancing at me sideways, unless of course, I was into that sort of thing. I could have sworn his cheeks pinked up, but I was too busy studiously ignoring him.

Once we got to the sunshine-yellow building happily emblazoned with “Mellark’s Bakery” over the door, Peeta gave me a brief tour of the bakery, store front and kitchen, and pointed out that they lived upstairs. I met both of his older brothers, matching their backstories to the strange variations on the Mellark face I knew best. Rye’s perma-smirk made him easy to pick out. 

I learned that most of my duties would involve working the counter with one of the Mellarks and keeping the flow moving from kitchen to counter, informing the bakers what we needed more of. As soon as the doors opened, ushering in the ceaseless queue of people hungering for pastries, it was so relentlessly busy, that I forgot to be nervous and hate it.

I’ve always been organized and good at keeping one step ahead of scarcity, so I was well suited for the job. The fact that I’m also small and have quick reflexes, ended up being quite a bonus. Those Mellark men take up quite a bit of space and have worked out how not to kill each other while navigating the small area with hot trays laden with sweet rolls. I, on the other hand, quickly learned to duck. 

The first week went by in a blur of blond brothers and baked goods. Every time I shouldered my way into the kitchen and hollered out that we needed more sticky buns or seeded sourdough, I was met with Peeta’s startlingly blue eyes and gentle smile. I fought the urge to blush, pushing back through to the storefront, biting my lip to keep from answering his smile. 

Mornings were so non-stop busy, the time flew by. But afternoons were my favorite. Once the main rush of customers died down after lunch, the work shifted into the kitchen. The Mellark men worked as a single eight-handed organism. They had the prep down to a choreographed science. Mr. Mellark put on music, usually Frank Sinatra or Louis Prima and they all moved seamlessly around each other as they measured and mixed and kneaded the ingredients for the next morning. The music was always loud. The Mellarks did very little talking, which obviously suited me fine. There was a good bit of heckling, some obscene hand gestures, now and again one of them would attempt to sing, which was a unilaterally bad idea. The boys always grumbled about Mr. Mellark’s music choices, but they couldn’t seem to help themselves from bopping their blond heads or humming tunelessly along. And I couldn’t seem to keep myself from smiling at how ridiculous they all were. Despite how Norman Rockwellian the scene was, I had to admit to myself that I kinda liked it there. 

Another thing I grudgingly liked was that every afternoon, Peeta walked me back to the intersection where he had met me that first morning. He would make easy conversation, talking about his brothers, his favorite baseball team or music. One afternoon, a couple of weeks into my bakery sentence, as I had decided to think of it, Peeta turned to me and asked solemnly, “Katniss, how do you feel about pizza?”

I laughed out loud at the seriousness of his expression, before answering, “Good. I feel good about pizza.”

He smiled at me in response, “Right? Who doesn’t like pizza? I’ve been trying to talk my dad into letting me start making brick-oven pizzas on Friday nights. Maybe some live music...”

I nodded. That actually sounded like a really good idea. 

“So what’s your favorite kind of pizza?” he asked.

I shrugged. “All kinds. I’ll eat pretty much all food.” Then hastily added, “Except olives. They taste like the can.” 

“Got it, no olives.” He was grinning widely, watching me from the corner of his eye. 

“What?” I demanded.

“Nothing!” He shrugged dramatically. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say on any subject. I feel privileged to know such a deeply personal fact about the elusive Ms. Everdeen.” 

He reached out and gave my braid a gentle tug, then let his fingers slide down the coil to run the frayed end between his fingers. “You better watch out, at this rate, before you know it we’re going to be best friends.” 

The intimacy of the gesture made my stomach flip, so I bumped his shoulder with mine, knocking his hand away. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mellark,” I quipped, hoping he didn’t catch the slight breathlessness in my voice. 

“Ah, so I see I still have some work ahead of me. Can we agree on friends at least?” he asked holding out his hand formally. I leaned in to make a snide remark about not needing any friends, but somehow I wobbled and we ended up hugging.

It was almost too sad to admit, even to myself, that this was the closest I’d come to physical contact with a guy in months. And even before then, it had been more dry spell than not. Gale and I had had the obligatory experimental make out session when we were just getting started on our grow project and spending everyday together in the woods. While he was a hormonally-motivated teenage boy that would have rutted against anything without sharp edges, I don’t think either of us were really that into it. Particularly when you compared it against the legions of young ladies, with significantly bigger breasts, that started vying for his attention and dick soon after. I was relieved to find that that was fine with me. 

Over the next year or two, I had a couple of other minor romantic dalliances with guys from the neighborhood. Most of them worked for Gale, as I didn’t get out much, but they never progressed beyond heavy petting and hand jobs. I basically fell into each experience out of convenience and a vague sense of curiosity and fell out of them just as easily. Much to Gale’s slack-jawed delight, I had even tried kissing Leevy once just to see if maybe I was gay. But no. I honestly prefered hanging out by myself in the greenhouse we set up in the woods, hand pollinating plants over human sex. I was pretty sure there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

But as Peeta wrapped me in a solid, one-armed hug and my head nestled perfectly into the space between his neck and shoulder, an unfamiliar warmth radiated through every cell of my body, infusing my cheeks. I wondered if maybe the reason I had never been that into any of those other guys was because my heart was already spoken for. What if I’d imprinted on him like a baby duck. Let’s face it, it’s damn near impossible not to fall in love with a bread angel that literally saves your life. I tucked my face into his t-shirt to conceal my response and was assaulted with the aroma, yes aroma, of him; cinnamon, laundry soap and clean sweat. If I hadn’t been completely mortified that I was standing on a public street corner with my nose buried in his neck, I could have happily died there. Instead I mumbled goodbye and half stumbled, half jogged home. When I got there, I took an extra-long, very tension-relieving shower.

xxxxx

Gale came by that evening to talk about our harvest plans. It was weird to be so out of the loop, but the bakery hours, followed by making sure Prim was fed and set for school were taking up all of my daylight and energy. 

Gale had a crew ready to commence with harvest as soon as I gave the okay. We had to wait until the seeds on the hand pollinated plants were mature. Generally, this time of year I basically lived in the greenhouse, monitoring the bud and seed plants closely, as well ensuring a measure of protection. It was a little weird thinking of them out there alone.

When Gale and I first took over the grow, we had no idea what we were doing. All of the plants had wind pollinated themselves and our first crop was a seedy mess. Luckily we were selling mainly to fellow high school students and cheapskates and beggars couldn’t be choosers. But after trying to shake seed out of hundreds of dime bags, an afternoon in the public library and some super-helpful chatroom conversations had awarded me an education in the basics of marijuana pollination. 

Most of the male plants were disposed of as soon as they were sexed, since the female plants produced the bud we sold. But since we had no connections and couldn’t afford new seed strains, we were lucky to have had the pollination accident initially. I learned that I needed to keep a handful of male plants with desirable traits to hand pollinate a few female plants for seed production. The rest of the female plants were kept unpollinated (Gale called them virgins, probably just to annoy me) and those plants put all of their energy into producing buds rather than seeds. We got lucky, then we got good.

These days, every time I hung out with Gale, I felt guilty and uncomfortable about my time at the bakery. He acted like it was the prison sentence I had initially assumed it would be and I felt embarrassed to admit how much I actually liked it. Additionally, my feelings for Peeta were confusing enough without Gale’s snotty asides about “the doughboy” and “the Mellark dorks”. It made hanging out with Gale increasingly awkward and had put a strain on our friendship that neither of us seemed to know how to resolve. We weren’t really talkers, Gale and I. And when we got uncomfortable, we tended to be barbed like testy porcupines. I guess I was kind of dreading our upcoming time together, but the plants weren’t going to harvest themselves and my “sentence” at the bakery only had a month left. It wasn’t like I had a vast wealth of marketable skills to fall back on. We made plans for Sunday afternoon and we both headed home grumpily.

As I tried to fall asleep that night, I couldn’t kick a general feeling of malaise at the thought of my time at the bakery ending. I had just gotten used to the routine, I told myself. It would all fade away as soon as I got back into the woods. I didn’t need the excuse of the job to continue to see Peeta, he had said as much. We were friends. But I’d miss seeing him everyday. Damn. I needed to reign my feelings in and remember what was important, what was real. Prim would graduate next year. Then there would be college tuition. I really didn’t have time for a boyfriend, I needed to stay focused on what needed to get done. That was the only way I had gotten us this far. It would also be stupid, not to mention unfair, to drag Peeta into the quagmire that was my life.

But since I was lying alone in the dark, I let myself do something I rarely did; think about things I wanted. Like college for myself too. I’d be able to take some botany classes at the community college and still manage our grow. The first couple of years had been an education in themselves, but I wanted to learn about more than one thing. This had been a means to an end for our survival, but if I was really honest with myself, I wanted to grow food; to figure out better ways to feed hungry people that needed help. And since I was being completely honest with myself tonight, I wanted to drift off to sleep mentally thumbing through the vast array of Peeta’s gorgeous smiles I had been secretly cataloging. And I wanted my last conscious thought to be his soft, pink lips. 

xxxxx

Having come to some taciturn understanding with myself that, against my better judgement, I wanted him, this knowledge seemed to have tattooed itself somewhere only Peeta could see. Despite my renewed commitment to scowling and limited verbal responses, he flirted with me mercilessly. I found myself working with him in the storefront, aware of every brush of his skin, each time his warm palm pressed to my lower back as he reached for something behind me. I had trouble staying focused on the orders, the register, anything really. Each practical thought had to fight its way through a fog of hormonal commitment to do nothing but stare at his beautiful hands. He seemed to be similarly handicapped as evidenced by the frequent eye-rolling and exasperated repeated questions from his father and brothers. Frankly, it was embarrassing and I needed to pull myself together.

This behavior was generally met with good-natured annoyance by Peeta’s family, but the next day all of the Mellarks seemed unusually tense. I couldn’t really put my finger on what exactly was different, but something seemed off. Rye, in particular, seemed shorter-fused than usual, snapping at old Mrs. Fairbrook before apologizing and retreating to the kitchen.

That afternoon on our walk back to “our corner” (yes, that’s how I now referred to a public intersection in my head... Heaven help me), Peeta was uncharacteristically quiet. Our walks home had been getting increasingly slower paced, due in large part to the amount of energy Peeta dedicated to gesticulating animatedly while he talked and my willingness to have this particular part of my day last for as long as possible. 

“A penny for your thoughts,” he asked quietly.

I was caught off guard; he generally didn’t require me to keep up my end of the conversation, which left me plenty of time to quietly appreciate his gesturing hands and what that did to his forearms, Lord stop me at his upper arms, because if I got to this gloriously broad shoulders, that would lead to his aromatic neck…”I was just wondering if you’d be able to talk at all if someone tied your hands behind your back,” I blurted out.

He barked out a laugh, before narrowing his eyes and leaning in to ask me teasingly, “So what you’re basically saying is that you’re thinking about tying me up?” 

I could feel my face redden as visions of Peeta tied naked to a chair assaulted my already prurient thoughts. I would have to revisit that image when I had some alone time, but right now it was more than I could handle. “That’s not...you’re just quiet and your hands are in your pockets.... Jesus, Peeta.”

“Wow, Katniss, you don’t need to be embarrassed. Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” He held his crossed wrists out in front of him, offering them to me. I turned, glancing nervously around us to make sure no one had seen and grabbed his hands to wrench them apart, but ended up holding one of his hands in both of mine. He stared down at our hands and slowly intertwined our fingers, before starting to walk slowly again. Um, this was new.

He chuckled and rubbed his chin with his free hand, before shoving it back in his pocket. “Thanks for that. I needed it.” 

“What’s going on?” I asked, squeezing his hand lightly when he didn’t immediately answer.

“My mom left three years ago today.” His voice was oddly flat.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” My only direct experience with Mrs. Mellark had been that fateful day when hunger and desperation had broken me to the point where I was crawling through the mud, scavenging in town garbage bins. Weakness and hopelessness had overpowered any sense of pride I may have had and I was desolate when she had shooed me away like a stray dog. When Peeta had emerged from the back of the bakery with the slightly charred loaves and his eye nearly swollen shut, I had thought he might be an angel. When he flinched at the sound of his mother hollering at him to get his “stupid, worthless ass back to work”, I was pretty sure she might be a demon. 

I had been surprised but so relieved when Mrs. Mellark wasn’t at the bakery on my first day. Since none of the Mellarks ever mentioned her, I had kind of blocked her from my mind. It never occurred to me that anyone might miss her.

“It really is for the best. I know that. But it doesn’t really make it hurt any less sometimes,” he said quietly, loosening his grip on my hand. I stepped into him, grasping his hand tighter in case he had any notion of letting go. 

“I miss my dad everyday.” It was barely more than a whisper, but I knew he had heard me. I hadn't voiced this particular hurt in years and our linked hands felt like a lifeline.

We walked the last hundred feet to the stop sign in silence. When we got there, we both seemed reluctant to go. 

“I know it is a breach in protocol, but can I walk you all the way home?” He was drawing little patterns on the back of my hand with his thumb and I wanted it to last forever. But I had a second job to get to.

“Nah, I’m not heading straight home. I have some stuff I need to do.” 

“I see.” He glanced away. “Does this stuff have anything to do with Gale Hawthorne?”

“Peeta, I don’t really want to talk about that.” I didn’t want him involved in any of the weed-related part of my life. It wasn’t the safest thing and I felt vaguely ashamed of my illegal activities in front of such a straight-laced guy.

“Got it.” He pulled his hand from mine before shoving it back in his pocket, leaving little tendrils of warmth on my skin. “It’s none of my business.” His voice had gone flat again.

With startling clarity, I suddenly realized what he was assuming and couldn’t stop the laugh that burst out of me. “Peeta, there is absolutely nothing happening between Gale and I. We’re friends and business partners, that’s all. "

“Okay.” He took off his ball cap and ran his hand through his golden waves before settling it back on his mussed hair. He looked embarrassed, but pleased. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Same time, same place, Mellark.”

I had only gone a couple of steps when he called out, “So, Katniss, what type of rope were you envisioning exactly? Twine, ribbons, what? I’m just trying to get a visual.” He was grinning so broadly I thought his face might break. 

I gave him my best death glare and flipped him off. But I couldn’t keep the skip out of my step as I headed back to the Seam, holding my warmer hand against my cheek. The weight of my life proving not to be quite up to the task of deflating my elation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still hopefully seeking a beta/pre-reader/sounding board for the rest of this story. If anyone is interested, please message me. Also, I'm appleblossomgirl0305 on Tumblr, if anyone wants to chat. I hope you're all having a lovely day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get more complicated for Katniss on both business and personal fronts. And Everlark first kisses ensue...
> 
> "I made a hasty escape, leaving Peeta to help his dad instead of waiting so we could walk together. The entire way home, I couldn’t stop touching my swollen lips and couldn’t seem to get my heart to slow back down to a reasonable rate. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel his skin beneath my fingertips, his hands gripping my hips, and hear his small huffs of breath and soft grunts. I shook my head to clear it, but quickly realized that if wanting Peeta Mellark was in fact a bad idea, I was in serious trouble. Because as my flushed skin and weak knees could attest, I was on fire for him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All mistakes are mine. If anyone would be interested in betaing future chapters of this sucker, please let me know. I'm appleblossomgirl0305 on Tumblr -- if you feel like chatting, hit me up!

As I arrived at Gale's house and saw that blasted green door and those damned tennis shoes, I realized I didn’t want to go in there. I asked Thom to send Gale out instead.

Gale crept from the house looking like a mole emerging from a burrow. His voice was scratchy from disuse when he said, “Hey, stranger.”

“What’s up, Hawthorne? You look worked.” I took in his skinnier-than-usual frame, dark stubble on his hollow cheeks, the racoon eyes that were part day-old eyeliner and part cumulative sleeplessness. I knew Gale well and something was wrong.

“Some shit’s been going down. Nothing you need to worry about. I got it handled.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes, further smearing his already smudged eyeliner. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much. I know the timing is bad.” 

He exhaled, running his hand down his face and giving his head a sharp shake, before grasping my shoulder. “It’s not your fault. I know you don’t want to be at that bakery any more than I do.” I cringed inwardly at how untrue this was. I was going to have to tell Gale about things with Peeta, but now obviously wasn’t the time. 

"Well, I'm here now. Let's head out. I want to be home before dark." He nodded and we set out for the meadow.

In spite of his chronically high state, I generally had to push myself to keep up with Gale. In addition to his long legs, he was exuberant outdoors. But as Gale and I made our circuitous route through the forest, he seemed strangely stressed and reluctant. We’d worked out a network of approaches to the grow site to vary our path, but he was all hunched over and darting glances around us every few seconds. I realized how on edge I was, as I automatically searched the surrounding trees for some unidentified threat. 

“Jesus, Gale, what’s your deal? You’re making me crazy.” Gale had been many things over our years together in the forest: sullen, angsty, cocky, goofy, funny-as-hell, and sharp-tongued, but worried and jumpy were new and unwelcome. 

“Shhhh!” he hissed. And when I stared at him incredulously, he sheepishly added, “Just keep your voice down, okay?” I could read the near panic in his eyes, and started to feel that cold prickle of real fear seize the skin at the back of my neck.

“Gale, what is it? What’s going on?” I demanded in a low whisper. 

“Let’s just get this done. We’ll talk after.” His eyes begged me not to challenge this request and my fear ratcheted up another notch. I swallowed hard, heart pounding and nodded my assent.

When we emerged from the surrounding undergrowth to find the grow, just as we left it, I exhaled in relief. I glanced over at Gale to hassle him about laying off the weed until he could get a handle on the paranoia, but if anything, he looked more stressed. 

He leaned in to breath into my ear, “Quick, okay, Catnip?” His eyes never left the surrounding vegetation. 

I checked the various plots of plants, while he kept a vigilant watch on whatever threat he felt we were under. This little slice of forest had been my second home for years, and I absolutely hated feeling unsafe here. As I glanced around, the greenhouse that we spent hours camouflaging into the surrounding forest, looked obvious and flimsy. The plants looked exposed and out of place. I had to steel myself more than once to keep my focus and make the correct notation on the plant ledger that was usually second nature to me.

Soon, I was lightly touching Gale’s shoulder as he startled. He nodded gravely and we started back. The entire walk home, my back felt stiff with tension and insanely vulnerable. The more vulnerable I felt, the more I pissed I became at Gale. 

Once the meadow came into view, I watched Gale’s whole body visibly slump in relief. As soon as there was a good couple hundred feet between us and the forest edge, I planted myself in front of him, hands on hips as the uncomfortable fear morphed into my good friend anger.

“What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?” I demanded, punctuating each menacing word with a finger jabbed into his sternum. 

He had the decency to look cowed as he took a step back, rubbed a spider-fingered hand over his sweaty, pale face and said, “There have been some threats.” 

“What kind of threats?” My voice was a hiss and I started at him through slitted eyes. What the hell was going on here, what had changed, and why hadn’t he told me? We were supposed to be partners, damn it. 

“Snow’s henchmen, this dude named Heavensbee, contacted me after your botched arrest. He demanded that we turn over our entire harvest and all of the seed stock.” He was absently rubbing his chest where I had jammed my finger, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I might have felt a little bad if my blood wasn’t still buzzing with the potent cocktail of fear and fury.

“And why the fuck would we do that?” I got that Snow was probably frustrated and embarrassed by this failed attempt to have to me arrested, it really was a rookie move, but it seemed more appropriate for him to retreat and lick and his wounds that make an additional demand without the additional leverage.

Gale’s eyes met mine and his face paled even further, “Because he threatened to kill our families if we didn’t. He gave us a month.” 

“Gale!” I sputtered, “What? When?” I didn’t know where to start so I just shoved him hard with both hands. He stumbled backwards, then just sat down defeatedly in the grass.

“It gets worse, I’ve also been contacted by a woman who calls herself “President Coin”. She made similar demands, but they focused more on our direct torture and gradual dismemberment if we didn’t comply.” He looked so completely miserable that the anger just drained out of me and with it, all of my energy. I slumped down next to him in the grass. “I’m sorry, Catnip. I should have told you, but you’ve been so distant and caught up with the bakery and Mellark… I thought I could handle it.” I glanced up at him, understanding that he knew more than I thought he had and feeling guilty that it was all true. I had been caught up. I had left him to deal with most aspects of our business.

“So now what?” 

“At first I thought I could handle it. Fuck them, right, this is our town.” He glanced over and I nodded, it had been my initial reaction too. “But then, Heavensbee listed our siblings by name and I realized how powerless we really are. The police seem to be completely in Snow’s pocket. I’ve gotten by this far mainly on image and bravado, and I’ll fight, you know I will. But the kids? When he brought them into this, it got real.” He sighed. “I’ve been on edge for weeks.” That explained why he’d been such a tool lately.

“But why didn’t you tell me, Gale?” I tried and failed to keep the hurt out of my voice.

He leaned his shoulder heavily against mine. “I just wanted to have a plan first, then I was going to tell you. But it turns out,” he wryly lifted his eyebrow, the silver hoop glinting in the last rays of the evening light, “I’m not such a good planner.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth as I replied, “Shocking.”

“I feel about ten thousand pounds lighter having told you.” He laid down on to his back and flung his arm over forehead before peeking at me through the crook in his elbow and asking, “So what’s our plan, Professor?”

I shoved him lightly with my foot and responded, “Well, I think I may have an idea of someone we can talk to.” I couldn’t exactly put my finger on why he had immediately jumped into my mind and felt like a life raft, but I was pretty sure I still had Haymitch Abernathy’s card.

Xxxxx

This new turn of events had put my crush on Peeta Mellark in stark contrast. Not only was it a terrible idea to like him so much, it could actually be dangerous for him. I started my new week with a firm resolve to knock it off. Unfortunately, within hours of of arriving at the bakery an incident between some raspberry preserves and Peeta's t-shirt, resulted in me walking into the office to find him shirtless. My first thought was whether I could surreptitiously steal his t-shirt, scrape off the jam and use it as a pillowcase, followed shortly by my second thought, which was basically just a full-body buzz of appreciation for the perfection of his torso. A smooth expanse of golden skin, peppered with freckles across his shoulders and a sprinkling of blond hairs across his chest and in a glorious line of a happy trail leading down. Down his taut stomach and into the jeans that were slung tantalizingly low on his hips. He blushed as he caught me staring and I considered myself lucky that none of the saliva that had flooded my mouth at the sight of him had drooled out. I swallowed audibly and turned to leave, muttering an unconvincing, “Sorry.”

“Katniss, wait. Could you hand me that shirt,” he asked, his voice tantalizingly low and soft. 

I turned, looking for the referenced shirt and saw a flannel hanging over the back of the chair he was leaning against. I fought the urge to make a smart-ass comment, apparently struck dumb by all that mouthwatering skin, and slowly walked towards him. What the fuck was I doing? This room was far too small, and far too warm, but I felt myself drawn to him like a moth to the moon. I stopped with mere inches separating us. I could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin and there was the glorious scent of him. We were both breathing harder than was strictly necessary and I had a crazy urge to run my tongue up his chest until I could properly suck on his neck, right in that spot where I fit perfectly.

He was dipping his head down towards me, apparently this visceral, magnetic thing was mutual, when a throat was cleared and an amused voice said from behind me, “Um, I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but you’re about to bone down on today’s special orders.” God damned Rye. I bolted back out to the front, cheeks blazing, chased by Rye’s hyena-like laughter. 

The rest of the afternoon was torture. I could barely look at Peeta without the overpowering urge to reach under his shirt and run my hands over the smooth plane of his belly. I was going half-mad keeping my hands off him. For his part, there was a lot of back-of-the-neck rubbing and audible throat clearing every time we were close to each other.

It felt like an eternity until the storefront finally closed for the day and prep wound down. As usual, Bran booked out of there as quickly as possible, Mr. Mellark worked on closing out the till and Rye volunteered to make afternoon deliveries. I was both nervously dreading and dying to be alone with Peeta. My resolution to keep our relationship platonic increasingly difficult to hold in my mind as the need to touch him eclipsed all logical thought.

Once everyone cleared out, I found myself nearly paralyzed with anxiety. Anxiety that I wanted this so badly. That I was going to screw this up. That he deserved to be with someone with a less complicated life. I dropped down on to the bench seat and stared at my lap. He walked over and sat next to me on the bench, reaching for my hand, which was balled tightly on my lap. I felt his gaze on the side of my face but kept my eyes trained on his hand as I unclenched my fist and turned my hand over, opening my palm against his. His hand was so large, so warm it engulfed mine and he slowly parted my fingers, sliding his between mine. It felt incredible, right, to link my body to his, even in this small way. 

My head snapped around as the door swung open behind us and Rye, carrying a large pastry box, called over his shoulder in an obnoxiously sing-song voice, “I’m out of here. Have fun closing up.” 

As the door slammed shut behind him, I realized that I had pulled my hand from Peeta’s and was gripping the wooden bench. His hand, however, had not left my lap and was now splayed over my bare knee like a starfish. I glanced at him, but his eyes were glued to where his fingers had started to lightly brush circles over the skin on the inside of my knee. He kept watching as his fingertips moved slowly up the inside of my leg leaving tiny spirals of fire in their wake. I closed my eyes and l fell into the moment, the smell of the cinnamon bread we baked earlier, the warmth of the late afternoon sun filtering in from the high windows and the exquisite sensation of his calloused fingers dancing their way up the delicate skin of my thigh. I felt myself opening to him, blooming open, unfurling. My breath caught as a throb of desire coursed through me and his hand stopped. I listened to his ragged breaths and willed him to keep going. 

As I reluctantly peeked over at him, I was met with his dazzling blue stare focused intently on my face. My gaze drifted down over his pink cheeks, the spray of freckles over his nose, down to his mouth. His lips were parted, and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet them. I was suddenly desperate to feel them. Call it temporary insanity, but I leaned up and gently brushed my lips against his. They were warm and soft and perfect. I pulled away, feeling the slight tingle in my lips as I wet them before pressing them against his more firmly this time. I ran my tongue along his bottom lip, savoring the plump sweetness. 

His breath caught and his fingers dug into my thigh. I surged up onto my knees, needing better leverage to deepen the kiss. I was above him, my hands on either side of his beautiful face holding him to me. As my hands slid into his hair he moaned into my mouth. I was shocked as he pushed me back slightly - what had I done wrong?- but he quickly swung one leg over the bench so we were facing each other before threading his fingers into my hair and pulling me back into a deep kiss. 

I couldn’t get close enough to him. I slid forward and careful not to knee him in the balls, slipped both of my legs over his, effectively climbing into his lap as I straddled him. He wrapped his other arm around my lower back pulling me against him and with a startled gasp, I felt his erection, hot and thick beneath his pants. I bucked forward, pressing my center into him and my breathy moan was answered by his low grunt. It felt so unbelievably good. 

Our kisses were frantic at this point, unfocused explorations of lips and tongues and teeth. I had one hand down the neck of his t-shirt and other snaking up under the hem to splay over his taut stomach. I wanted to feel every ridge and valley of his glorious torso, but was too tangled up in his shirt to make any progress in removing it from his body. He too seemed to be trying to lie me back and keep kissing me, all while keeping us from falling off the narrow bench. 

The jingle of the bell out front seemed so far away, I barely registered it through the lustful delirium that had engulfed us. Peeta seemed to grasp its meaning just before I realized that someone was pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen. Somehow, he managed to untangle us and spring up to stand against the counter, leaving me grasping the bench behind me so I wouldn’t slide right off into a boneless puddle on the floor.

“Smells wonderful in here. How’d the cinnamon bread turn out?” Mr. Mellark called out, staring down at the stack of papers in his hands.

“Good,” Peeta croaked, then tried again, “good.” 

His dad, whistling softly under his breath, replied, “Good. Could you grab me a slice?” Then disappeared into the office.

I made a hasty escape, leaving Peeta to help his dad instead of waiting so we could walk together. The entire way home, I couldn’t stop touching my swollen lips and couldn’t seem to get my heart to slow back down to a reasonable rate. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel his skin beneath my fingertips, his hands gripping my hips, and hear his small huffs of breath and soft grunts. I shook my head to clear it, but quickly realized that if wanting Peeta Mellark was in fact a bad idea, I was in serious trouble. Because as my flushed skin and weak knees could attest, I was on fire for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss and Gale turn to Haymitch for help with the threat to their business. Even though she's trying to protect Peeta by keeping him out of her messy life, Katniss can't seem to maintain any distance from her favorite baker. Gale throws his annual Solstice party and Katniss accidentally asks Peeta to be her date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it has been a year since I posted (then completely neglected) this story. In honor of four-twenty, I got my act together to update. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

That evening, Gale and I met Haymitch at the diviest dive bar in the Seam, and that was seriously saying something. Despite their low standards in cleanliness, Gale still had to bribe the bouncer to let us in. In true Seam fashion, underaged “kids” were welcome to grow and sell, and in this case bargain with, weed, but not necessarily enter a bar.

As I nervously rolled my foot back and forth, sticking and unsticking my Chuck Taylors from the floor, Gale told Haymitch the whole story. At one point Gale leaned over and pressed his palm against my knee to stop my compulsive bouncing, so I used my feet to gather a small pile of peanut shells on which I could perch my the toes of my shoes . Gale was hunched over with his elbows on the filthy table and he kept pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands, but I couldn’t tell if it was a cleanliness issue or a nervous tic. Either way, I was reminded of him as a gawky fourteen-year-old. And, peeking at Haymitch grudgingly from the corner of my eye, I was struck by the way Gale and I both bristle at and crave a certain type of man, dare I say, a father figure.

When Gale had reached the end of his story, Haymitch knocked back the rest of the filthy glass of amber liquid that he had been swirling and trained his bloodshot, eagle-eyes on me. “So how’s the bakery gig, Sweetheart?”

Scowling at the casual use of "sweetheart", I cleared my throat and said, “Good. It’s fine.”

He nodded slowly and asked, “And the boy?”

I felt my cheeks flush, but held his gaze. “Which boy? There are several.” Somehow, I knew we were talking about Peeta. In my flustered state, I defaulted to surly and demanded, “What do you care?”

“He’s a good kid, that one. Been nice to me on more than one occasion. Brought me bread…” I looked at him then and wondered what he’d lost, what Peeta meant to him. I was starting to think I really should get Peeta a ballcap emblazoned with “bread angel” and the thought made me smile. Haymitch tilted his head questioningly then continued in a low voice, “I just want to make sure you understand what you’ve got before you piss it away.” What the hell? How could he know my heart? And if he did, as well as seemed to, how could he not understand that I was trying to keep Peeta safe?

Then he looked back and forth between Gale and I and stated, “Well, this is quite a pickle you two have gotten yourselves into. As much as I applaud you enabling the good people of District Twelve to self medicate, if I were you, I’d start contemplating a Plan B. But I think I may be able to help. Carry on with your business as usual. Give me a couple of days. I’ll be in touch.” Then he heaved himself up from our table and took a seat at the bar, gesturing at the barkeep with his empty glass. Realizing we’d been dismissed, Gale and I peeled our shoes from the floor and headed home.

Xxxx

The next morning I was saved from complete, lust-induced insanity by Peeta being confined to the kitchen working on a special order cake decoration job. I was strangely relieved to swap the the mind-numbing effect of his presence for Rye’s incessant teasing and complaining. I was far more equipped for that sort of interaction. My time with the Hawthorne brothers had prepared me well.

Whenever an attractive girl would turn up at the counter, Rye would literally push me out of the way to help her. After he had shamelessly flirted with the third or fourth girl that morning, and was going in for a fifth, I used my well-honed evasive tactics to avoid displacement. As he tried to step in front of me and use his sheer bulk to push me back, I side stepped and stomped on his foot. As he faltered, I slipped between him and the counter asking the chesty blonde with too much make up how I could help her. When she requested a scone and looked over my shoulder at Rye, I snapped my fingers at him and pointed at the bakery case out of pure spitefulness. 

As soon as there was a lull, he scowled at me. “That was entirely unnecessary. If you were feeling neglected, you could have just said so. Or better yet, used that cute ass of yours more productively when vying for the attentions of the pretty customers.”

I scowled right back and told him to bite me, then quickly regretted it.

“When and where?” he asked, sidling up into my personal space. 

“Screw you,” I hissed. Damn it, I clearly wasn’t used to sexual innuendo in my brotherly sparring. The Hawthorne boys preferred creative insults describing my general hideous disfigurement over sexual harassment. I longed for those simpler times.

He shook his head and muttered, “Too easy.” 

I could feel myself blush and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from blurting out that I was flustered out of frustration not girlish embarrassment. Then he followed up with, “Am I to take it that my little bro isn’t meeting all of your needs? ‘Cause I’m up for the challenge, just say the word.” Then he literally winked at me.

I barely restrained myself from hitting him. My face felt like it could burst into flame. I stared up at the ceiling and took a couple of deep breaths, feeling my heart rate slow from the furious gallop.

“Katniss, relax. Seriously, you look like you might have a stroke.” His cocky demeanor morphed into something that actually seemed like concern. “I’m just fucking with you.” He looked over at me and I nodded curtly, still focused on slowing my heart rate. “I would never mess with my brother’s girl, at least not Peet’s. I might have a go at Bran’s as payback for some of his older brother fuckery over the years,” he chuckled, “but I’d never hurt Peet like that. The kid’s been through enough.” His voice was soft and as he stared down at the toe of his shoe drawing patterns on the wood, he looked more like Peeta than I’d ever thought possible. Kindness, I thought, that’s the resemblance. “You are, right? Peet’s girl?” I wasn’t sure what to say, Peeta and I hadn’t even had this talk yet. 

“You two know you’re not fooling anyone, right?” he sounded like he was explaining something to a two-year-old. “Jesus, the two of you are the most obvious fucking thing ever. You practically glow when you’re in the same room and have, like, little cartoon hearts bubbling out of your ears whenever you look at each other. It’s completely disgusting really.”

Thankfully I was saved by the tinkle of the bell as a pretty, fox-faced redhead came slinking up to the counter. When I looked over at Rye, the sly grin was back in place. “So, Kitty Kat, you want fight me for this one?” He made an obnoxious hissing sound, while playfully brandishing his claws at me. I shook my head in exasperation and gestured him forward. I rolled my eyes skyward as he practically purred, “How can I help you, Gorgeous?” 

I couldn’t deny how her responding smile proved that he had brightened her day. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a complete asshat.

Right as the lunch rush was dying down, Madge popped in for a visit. 

“Can you take a break and sit with me for a few minutes?” She asked. It was weirdly nostalgic to have lunch with her. As we chatted about the bakery (or “rehab program” as she said with air quotes), I was reminded how much I liked her. Our friendship had been another casualty of the shambles my life had become after my dad’s death. Other than Gale and Prim, I really didn’t have anyone. Talking with a girl my age loosened something tight inside me; it was nice to have a friend of my own. 

“So, are you still friends with Gale Hawthorne?” She asked sheepishly. 

“Uh, yeah.” I shrugged, before noticing the pretty blush spreading up from her neck to engulf her entire face. 

“Why do you ask?” I couldn’t entirely keep the teasing tone out of my voice. When she just got pinker, I had to keep myself from demanding, “Not you too.” I couldn’t keep track of the number of times some girl had asked me this question with unbridled hope in her eyes.

Despite the general assumption that Gale and I were some sort of couple, this hadn’t made much of dent in the veritable harem of girls that vied for his attention. It hadn’t even stopped a certain subset of them from enlisting my help and favor. Since getting Gale laid was about as low on my list of priorities as picking out a prom dress, I usually just told them to fuck off. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t want Gale to be happy, I truly did. I just didn’t think the usual array of “ladies” that came sniffing around were actual girlfriend material. But Madge was a different story. Gale had always had a particular soft spot the pretty, blond mayor’s daughter. 

Don't get me wrong, Gale was a badass when he needed to be. He had the body and soul of a warrior without a doubt. But at his core, he was a family man. He loved his siblings, listened to his mom and longed for a family of his own. He worked his way through an impressive queue of women, but was always looking for a girlfriend. I had filled that role for him emotionally for years, but we both knew that it would never work between us. The only qualm I felt about hooking Madge and him up was the drug-dealer thing. I didn't think the mayor's daughter-criminal element combo was going to be a benefit to either of their images. But in a way I couldn't exactly put my finger on, they made sense too. And staring across the table at Madge's cautiously hopeful face, I really had no choice. 

"Want to come to a party with me this weekend?" I asked.

"Yes, please." She flashed that rare, but completely disarming smile at me. 

"What's this about a party," Peeta had walked up behind me and was slipping his apron over his head. Even though he was completely dressed beneath it, that innocent act of undressing accelerated my heart rate. 

“Gale’s throwing a solstice party on Saturday.” He nodded encouragingly, but didn’t say anything. I mentally grabbed sack and asked, “Wanna go with me?” His answering smile was the sweetest thing in the shop.

Xxxxx

When I stopped by Gale’s mom’s house that evening, it had been so long since I last visited that I practically had to pry Posey off me so Gale and I could take a walk so we could talk freely. I asked if he’d heard anything more from Snow or Coin. I wasn’t sure if I should be alarmed or pleased when he shook his head no. 

“You still throwing the solstice party?” I asked.

“Yeah. Abernathy told us to carry on with business as usual, right? Don’t tell me you want to help with the planning?” He chuckled, laughing at his own joke.

“Not a chance. Be nice or I won’t tell you about your date.” That got his attention.

“You’re not actually setting me up right now, are you? Or have you finally come around for some of the good stuff?” He grabbed his crotch while raising his eyebrows in mock suggestiveness.

“Gross. Madge Undersee has been asking around after you.” I nearly bit my tongue off as he grabbed my shoulder mid-step.

“Are you serious? The mayor’s wicked-hot daughter is asking about me?” His voice was about an octave higher than usual. I just nodded, to keep from laughing in his face.

“I had such a thing for her in school,” he mused, looking dreamy.

“I’m aware. Apparently it wasn’t completely one-sided.” It was fun to see Gale so excited about something that he lost his cool a little. It didn’t happen often. “Here’s her number. Don’t fuck up. We’re friends.” I didn’t have too many friends, a fact of which Gale was well acquainted. 

“Got it. Thanks, Catnip,” he said, plucking the slip of paper from my hand and pocketing it. Maybe this party was going to be fun after all.

On Saturday, after a short shift at the bakery, I headed over to Gale’s to help set up. The Solstice party was like a glorified block party that took place in the meadow that bordered the woods. It was like a Seam-wide potluck, no pun intended, with local bands, lots of food and lots of pot. It was an opportunity for us to give something back to the neighborhood and clear out last year’s supply before harvest. 

After a few hours of manual labor and verbal sparring with Gale and his boys, I headed home to get ready. As I showered and conditioned, then reconditioned, my hair, I realized that this was kind of my first real date. And even more horrifying, I was really excited, as the butterflies in my stomach could attest.

Peeta was waiting at the stop sign as I walked up. He looked different dressed in street clothes. His jeans were nice and fit him snugly in all the right ways and he was wearing a dark red button down that made his eyes seem unreasonably blue. I scuffed the toe of my Converse sneaker wishing I’d chosen something a little nicer than my frayed jeans and worn flannel over a ribbed black tank top. The outfit practically yelled, “nothing special here.” Sixty seconds in and I was already kicking myself. 

As we turned to walk back towards the Seam, I noticed the rucksack slung over his shoulder. 

“Are you planning an overnight excursion here, boy scout?” I asked.

He blushed, “I brought a couple of things. You know, flares, walkie-talkies in case we get separated.” The back of his fingers brushed against mine and it felt like a question. A question I wasn’t sure how to answer, so I linked my arm through his.

When we got to the meadow I was amazed at how lovely it looked in the setting sun. The thousands of fairy lights that we had strung from the surrounding fence and trees made the clearing look positively magical. There were kids everywhere and a huge line of tables adjacent to the stage overflowing with food. Gale’s brothers, Vic and Rory had started a band and were warming up with some Michael Franti covers and the mood it was setting was just right. 

Gale came up behind me and snaked a long arm around my shoulders. “Long time, no see, Catnip.” He glanced around me and took in Peeta and my linked arms. “I didn’t know you were bringing a date,” his voice was mixture of annoyance and amusement. 

“Yes, well, the things you don’t know could fill a library.” I fought the urge to unlink my arm from Peeta’s. Because, fuck Gale for making me feel self-conscious. 

“Let’s get you two a plate,” he said, heading toward the nearest table.

I looked over at the table set apart and lined with a red tablecloth. I gestured at it with my chin and told Peeta, “You’ll probably want to avoid that table, it’s the more herbally diverse fare.” Nodding, he walked towards it anyway. I figured he hadn’t understood, but as we reached the table, Peeta pulled a tin out the backpack and pried off the lid. The resulting aroma of chocolatey goodness had me sticking my face in the tin. Then I caught the skunky underlying scent and understood. 

“Get it, the baker plus the grower equals pot brownies!” he said, gesturing between us. He looked unreasonably pleased with himself. 

Gale guffawed loudly and reached over my shoulder to grab a brownie. “If these taste as good as they smell and get me ripped? We’re gonna have to have a business discussion.” 

“Where did you even get… it?” I had meant what I said, I didn’t want him mixed up in any of this.

“Rye. He had some for recreational purposes. I did it right, simmered the herb with the butter in double boiler for over an hour and everything. I think they’re going to be really good.” He was appealing to me like he was trying to convince me that he’d done a good job. He was really too cute for his own good.

“So, Katniss, you gonna have one or what?” Gale was enjoying my apparent discomfort far too much. I shot him a withering glare.

So the truth of the matter was that I had never really enjoyed smoking weed, at least not around other people. Gale compared me to a vegetarian cattle rancher. When I was straight and around high people, their ridiculousness was lame, but tolerable. But when I was stoned and confronted with their dopey grins, unfinished sentences and dreamy gesticulations, my internal irritation would ratchet up to barely containable rage. Gale found it hilarious and totally fitting that when my inhibitions were relaxed I became furious rather than mellow. Additionally, I had obviously never shared this part with Gale, but getting high made me... horny? I don’t know if horny was exactly the right description for the sensation, but let’s just say physically stimulated. Like I could feel each beat and pulse of the music and each base note reverberated as a throb of my clit. Like my lady parts were hard wired to the music. Weird, I know, and incredibly disconcerting. The thought of that sensation with Peeta anywhere in the vicinity was a recipe for madness, or at least some really slutty decision making.

I stared up into Peeta’s adorable and hopeful face. “Okay, half. One of us needs to keep our wits about us.” The brownie was decadent and amazing and the skunky undertones were strangely complementary to the chocolate he had used. I had a feeling that wasn’t an accident. Despite his easygoing nature, there was a cunning cleverness under his soft exterior. It wasn’t obvious, but it was the scaffolding upon which he built his kindness. I think it was what I liked best about him. That and his beautiful, sparkling eyes. And his soft, warm lips. And his huge hands. And his smooth, hard abs, and, okay, these brownies might be seriously potent. 

As I listened to myself giggle, yes, giggle, at something Peeta had said, I felt like I was hovering outside of myself. I slowly realized I was high, pleasantly so. It had come on so gradually, I hadn't distinguished it from day moving through twilight to dark; a dark dominated by fairy lights and the full moon. The meadow looked seriously ethereal. I tilted my head back and watched the moon go in and out of focus along with the thump of the beat from the bass.

Gale’s brothers and their bandmates had started their original set and they actually sounded really good. Scary good; good in a way that had me swaying to the music without even realizing it. I was just registering the foreign feel of my loosening limbs as my hips swayed to the thrumming beat when I glanced over and saw Haymitch smirking at me. He raised his flask in a pantomime toast. But instead of annoying me, like it normally would have, it was strangely nice. I flipped him off anyway, but he winked seeming to recognize it as a good-will gesture. Then, Peeta's lovely face appeared in front of me.

"Hi,” he said with a goofy grin, that I realized must be his high face.

I grinned goofily back at him, I couldn’t really control my features enough to stop it. He held out his hand to me and gestured towards the dance "floor" with a tip of his bouncy blond head. I held his hand and marveled at how he cut a swath through the thickening crowd of revelers.

When we arrived at a spot that seemed to satisfy whatever criteria he had, we stared at each other, awkwardly moving to the music. Then he looked over like he couldn't fight it any longer and he began to dance. And, fuck me, he was a really good dancer. He had incredible rhythm, and moved with a strangely graceful abandon for such a heavy-footed guy. In a dreamy epiphany, I realized I might love everything about him, might love him. I pushed the unnerving thought aside, knowing I would need to revisit that issue in a more sober state. 

What I was sure of was that I was having a uncharacteristically and tremendously good time. I couldn’t remember ever enjoying being high this much, or liking a party this much, or tolerating so many people so well. Peeta had a way of making everything in my life better than I ever thought possible. 

I was sweaty and grinning like an idiot when the music transitioned into a whimsical slow song. Without missing a beat, he pulled me to him and wove his arms loosely around my waist. I leaned into him and my head found that magical spot in the crook of his neck. I didn’t even try to disguise the fact that I was blatantly smelling his sweaty neck. 

“Did you just sniff me?” he asked, pulling back slightly. 

“Mmmhmm.” I murmured, letting my lips rest against his fevered skin. “Must be pheromones.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, resting his cheek against my hair and inhaling.

“Very good.” My body was abuzz, I desperately wanted to kiss him, rid him of these annoying clothes, and taste every inch of him. I was seriously questioning what possible reason there was for him to wear so many clothes. He looked amazing without them and there really shouldn’t be so much fabric between us. It was high (ha!) time for some slutty decision making. But just then I caught sight of Prim swaying languidly in front of the stage and staring up at what had to be one of the Hawthorne boys. I felt my fevered skin cool a degree or two and realized I needed to calm the fuck down before I ended up dry humping Peeta Mellark at the solstice party, surrounded by our neighbors. I was a complete mess.

Peeta seemed to feel my shift in mood and as the song ended, he grabbed my hand. 

“It’s getting awfully late for a baker. Walk me home?” Bread angel, I silently corrected him, but I nodded, grateful for the excuse to be alone with him. He retrieved his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder before grabbing my hand.

As we walked, hands entwined, I asked, “So you know that thing you said about us becoming best friends?“ He nodded and I continued, “I think I may want more than that.”

His breath whooshed out as turned to me. “Thank God! I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you!” He dropped the backpack, backed me up against the nearest building and ran both of his amazing hands up my neck to cup my face. I felt like there was probably more to say about this, but the next thing I knew he was kissing up my jaw with those soft, warm lips and devouring me in a searing kiss. A niggling voice in the back of my head shouted that I was standing on a public street corner for fuck sake and to knock it off immediately. But the rest of me decided I should wrap both my arms around his solid shoulders and kiss him back like my life depended on it. 

We kissed for days and when we finally broke apart, our lips were swollen and and chests heaving like we’d sprinted a mile. Peeta wrapped me in the warmest hug there had ever been and said ruefully, “Just so we’re completely clear, I can call you my girlfriend now, right?”

“Yes, I’ll allow it,” I responded imperiously, still feeling the silly aftershocks of the pot and PDA.

He looked down at me solemnly and added, “So you know what this means, right?”

“Uh…” My mind was too flooded with giddiness and lust to form coherent thought.

“One of us is going to need to get an apartment.” 

He pressed his lips to mine in a tantalizingly soft kiss and whispered, “Goodnight” into my ear, sending shivers down my neck. 

Yeah, one of us really, really would.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Is anyone out there interested in being (or can point me towards any resources for) a beta/pre-reader/sounding board for the rest of this story? I'm appleblossomgirl0305 on Tumblr, if anyone wants to chat. I hope you're all having a lovely day!


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